Falling For Argentina

Part II of VI 
Living in Colombia I have learned two words forwaterfall: cascada and chorrera.  Why I need more synonymous second-language vocabulary filling my brain, I don’t know, but now I have catarata and salto to contend with.  (Not being a “waterfall expert,” there may well be more than one English noun to describe a river that runs off a cliff, but four seems excessive.)

The Cataratas de Iguazú, located outside of the quiet tourist town of Puerto Iguazú,  are awe-inspiring to say the least.  At around 1.7 miles across with a total of 275 different individual falls*, this world-famous natural wonder straddles the border between Argentina and Brazil. To stand and watch the incredible quantity of water that rushes over the edge is bewildering.  If the pictures look familiar it may also be because the falls have been used in numerous Hollywood films including "The Mission" (1986) starring Robert DeNiro, "Mr. Magoo" (1997), and the most recent Indiana Jones sequel (2008), among others.

The first jaw-dropping view of the falls is usually from the upper ledges; I’m not exaggerating when I say I got goose bumps!  Further hiking trails allow you to climb down to the lower basin and gaze up into the powerful and refreshing mists as thousands of gallons of water surge toward you.  At the bottom we boarded a small boat and were driven underneath a few of the falls, which, while blinding, provided a welcome reprieve from the jungle heat of northern Argentina.  Another short distance by tram takes you to the Garganta del Diablo (Devil’s Throat), a U-shaped section of the falls where nearly half the fall’s water spills over 80 meters downward. 

This is one of those astoundingly beautiful places that no photograph could ever truly and completely capture.  Nevertheless, I tried…

*Gracias, Wikipedia

The coati is a relative of the raccoon native to the area

that enjoys stealing tourist lunches.

It is comparable in size to a medium-breed dog.

Tres Fronteras

At the far end of Puerto Iguazú is the confluence of two rivers.

From here you can see both Brazil (left) and Paraguay (right).

And then there is this video (courtesy of Kristin):

Trivial Pursuit (Part II)

A little over a month ago, I took the ICFES, Colombia's version of the SAT.  This morning the results were posted online.  While the scoring is complex with many subscores and sub-subscores and socres that are essentially dependant on how the rest of the testing population fared, I feel pleased with my results.

There are 1000 "puestos" or spots and everyone is ranked into one of those.  I ended in Puesto 683 which is about 31.7%.  Not too bad when the majority of my competition has native fluency in Spanish and is not ten years out of graduating from high school.

Of the individual subject scores, I got a 91.7 in English language - its a joke - and my next highest was a 58.9 in Biology, thankfully.  Now, in order to apply to most Colombian universities, I am told, any score over 50 is considered acceptable.  My Chemistry and Math scores were also in this acceptable range.  I knew nothing of Philosophy and it showed with a score of 12.7, however, the one I'm most proud of is the "lenguaje" section, which is dealing with the Spanish language, but in a Language Arts context; I got a 45.3.  Not to bad for someone who didn't know a lick of Spanish less that four years ago!

Trivial Pursuit (Part I)

I’ve been hearing the exasperated question “why?!?” a lot lately.  This isn’t completely undeserved either; it’s actually fairly legitimate.  On Sunday I voluntarily sat in a desk for about eight hours and took an exam that has no barring on my future.  


The ICFES is the Colombian equivalent to the SAT, except that is covers eight subjects – math, physics, chemistry, biology, philosophy, language arts (Spanish), social studies, and English (as a foreign language) – and is given in two parts, each four and a half hours in length.  The other major difference between this standardized test and its US counterpart is that every Colombian high school graduate must take the exam to receive a diploma of graduation and, those wishing to attend university in the country depend heavily on the score they receive.  So, you know, no pressure.

So, why did I put myself through it?  I’d say it was equal parts wanting to test my own Spanish comprehension after living here for four years, wanting a first-hand point of view of what is expected (according to the Colombian Ministry of Education) of my biology students, and because it was cheap at about US$20.  Nevertheless, it was a fascinating cultural experience as well.


The test is only given twice a year, with most people taking it at the close of their last year of school.   When you register, you are asked to put your address with the hope that you will be given a testing site nearby.  My colleague, Rita, and I both said we “lived” at the school in the hopes that we would be testing together and at one of the universities that sprout like weeds around our own school’s campus.  No such luck; we were both placed at separate sites on the other side of the city.


Upon arriving at the Universidad Libre in the west side of Cali just after 6am on a drizzly Sunday morning, I joined the already growing number of students lining up down the street, leading away from the front doors of the fortressed university building.  Because every graduate must take this test, there were people arriving from all kinds of schools, neighborhoods, socioeconomic backgrounds; some arrived my bus, some by taxi, and others drove themselves.  It struck me that this may be one of the only times in most city-dwelling Colombian’s lives that they are forced to intermingle with others from vastly different backgrounds, in this still very caste-like divided society.


The doors opened at 7am and everyone filed into the building and were directed to the wing and floor we were each assigned to.  Outside room 408 I was met by a nice old professor-like gentlemen in a worn sweater and jeans who asked to see my identification and match my name with the list outside the door.  With his glasses on the tip of his nose, he triple-checked that I was indeed who I said I was, smiled, and told me to sit in desk #16. 


As I entered the room, which at this point had only one other test-taker in it, I oriented myself to the numbering on the desks.  I saw desk 11, and 12, and then 13.  Taking a glance further down the row I saw it.  One desk that was older, smaller, and more decrepit than the rest.  Even though my gut told me I would be squeezing into this miniature joke of a writing surface, I still continued to count. 


Once the room was filled, the gentleman proctor from the door, Mr. Rojas, began distributing the exams, each personalized with our names and codes, pre-sealed in their own plastic-wrapped packages.  For the next four and a half hours Mr. Rojas, wandered in and out of the room, chatting with other proctors from across the halls, occasionally peaking his head into the room and sighing heavily as he plopped down in the one comfortable-looking chair at the head of the classroom.

Oye, ¿Esta prueba de ingles es de 'fill in
the blanks' o es de 'spot the mistake'?

During the lunch break I met up with six students from my school and we headed to grab something to eat and discuss the first half of the exam.  I was pleasantly surprised that the questions I didn’t “get” were ones they too found perplexing.  The test has been the subject of many a harsh critique over the years, ranging from poorly written questions to conspiracy theories regarding test questions that are too advanced as a way of assuring low scores so that the government has an excuse not to pay educators in poorer schools more money.


One of the most controversial sections, English language, has received some of the worst criticism.  I’ve heard horror stories about questions such as “Which of the following would you find in a park?” with the choices being between a man, a tree, a trashcan, and a dog.  Unsurprisingly, very bilingual graduates from my school were scoring in the 80th percentile.  At lunch we were all anxious to see how this year’s exam would play out.


Other than a couple oddly worded passages, I thought the entire section was well done, although the girl next to me would probably opine otherwise, as she clearly came from a school with no English program and therefore filled in none of her answer sheet, another universal flaw in the exam for schools with no English teachers or funding yet with national expectations.


The only question that I may actually have gotten wrong was in a section with a series of signs where the tester was asked to determine where these signs would be found.  One sign said “No running.”  The choices were: a zoo, a park, and on a bus.  I chose “a zoo” because it doesn’t seem possible to really run on a bus, nor seem like that would be a problem.  I’ve seen plenty of people running at a zoo, although I could see a sign condemning this behavior here much more than on a moving vehicle.  Later in the evening, Rita confirmed this sentiment, however, at school this week, the students had a different point of view: the school busses list not running as one of the many rules.  Context will get you every time.

From the ICFES website, the girl on
the left seems to be having an easier
time managing her exam than some
in my testing room.

Another strange thing about this exam is its form.  Think about being lost on some rural country road or stuck in the middle of big city in rush hour traffic with some giant road atlas map spread out over your lap and steering wheel, momentarily blocking out the windshield.  The exam “booklet” is like that.  You must somehow manipulate this massively awkward poster-sized paper monstrosity with origami master skills in a desk with a foldable writing surface the size of a notebook.  (Or, in my case, half that size.) Why they can't print separate pages and throw a couple staples in it while they're busy shrink-wrapping them is beyond me and most of the people I have spoken to.  


Other than the philosophy and Spanish language arts sections, which I pretty much gave up on not for lack of literal translation but interpretive translation, I felt pretty good about the exam.  For not studying at all, I felt pretty good about things I retained from my own university physics, math, and chemistry days.  Multiple-choice also helps a great deal, and, as a teacher, writing tests gave me an edge in weeding out potential wrong answers.


Time will tell, however, if I could apply to a Colombian university.  Truth be told, I’m mostly looking forward to seeing the score from the biology section, however, a part of me – the competitive part - would love to outscore at least one of our graduating seniors in the overall score.  Going for the B-C-B-C-B-C strategy on two sections probably won’t let that come to fruition though. 


We’ll all find out in May, I guess…

Total Immersion

When I first moved here I knew no Spanish whatsoever.  Mentira, I knew how to count to ten, say hola, cerveza, and ask the way to the bathroom by saying baño and pointing.  The rest was just fun little adventures along the way.  Talking to taxi drivers, the cashier in the grocery checkout line, the man who runs the copy machine room at school; basically, if people would talk to me, I would talk with them.

I enjoy going to movies, especially here where they are cheaper than in the US and have assigned seats.  The good dramatic fare doesn't always make it here and when it does one must be quick to catch it before it is off the marquee forever.  Most of the time what arrives here is slap-stick frat-boy comedies, cliché chick flick rom-coms, or cartoons.  I can't judge - I go and see them anyway, thus etching my "movie snob" title deeper in stone.

I crossed a milestone this year, however: I've seen two movies in Spanish, therefore without sub-titles of any kind, and understood most of what was going on.  Except for cartoons and other kid-friendly films, the rest are all subtitled in Spanish.  In previous years I've seen other foreign language films and gotten through them by reading the Spanish. (Reading comes easier to me for some reason than listening, perhaps due to a lack of dialect.) "La Vie en Rose" and "Entre les Murs" were slightly easier with my once decent French skills, while "Die Welle" in German was a bit of a head trip, but my brain survived.

Last month I went and saw the Colombian remake of the Robin Williams comedy "RV: Runaway Vacation" called "El Paseo" about a semi-dysfunctional family from Bogotá taking a roadtrip to Cartagena and their misadventures along the way.  In this particular film I had a hard time understanding the mother but, aside from a few slang terms, following the story was fairly easy and enjoyable.  I was also pleased when I laughed at jokes with the rest of the audience.  Score one for the gringo!

Last night I went to showing of a recent award-winning film at several international film festivals in Rome, Spain, and Chicago, called "Los Colores de la Montaña".  This drama takes place in a rural mountain community in the paisa region, so it is rugged, agricultural, and has breath-taking vistas wherever you turn.  It was also the scene of much paramilitary action, which is what the story is based around - how the influx of paramilitary presence affects the residents of this quiet community, the children, their school, their friends, and their parents.  It was a sad and ultimately tragic story, but one that is all too true and, thus, important to tell.  Coincidentally, I had a difficult time understanding the mother in this film too!  Fortunately, she is not the main character; that task falls on Manuel, the nine year old boy trying to figure out what is going on with his once peaceful village.  (The English-subtitled trailer is embedded  below this post.)

If you can find either of these, obviously with subtitles, I would recommend seeing them.  If anything, you can get a better sense of the stunning countryside I get the pleasure of seeing every time I travel.  Two other Colombian films worth checking out are "El Vuelco del Cangrejo", set in the poor Afro-Colombian Pacific region, and "Los Viajes del Viento", a beautiful story set in many places along the Caribbean coast.

Colombian cinema is an up-and-coming force to be reckoned with.  I'm just glad I'll be able to understand it!

Group Hug!

In Colombia there is a word used to describe an event where people come together in unification.  In the U.S. we might refer to it as a "group retreat" or possibly a "team-building conference."  Here it is called a convivencia (literally, "living together").  Since the 9th graders I teach lost the privilege to go for a week to Isla Gorgona due to irresponsible behavior by many during a similar event as 8th graders and several incidences this current school year with theft and poor treatment of substitutes, it was decided several days away from school with the teachers in an isolated environment to work out some class issues, might be a positive thing.

So, off we headed to a finca ("farm") in the department of Quindio in the heart of the coffee region for two days and nights of "living together."  This region is popular for other trips by our school as the weather is normally comfortable and it is relatively close - about three hours by bus.  During this time the students attended a several workshops by either us or a couple of outside psychologists about team-building, confidence, responsibility, and inclusion, among other themes.  While the dividends of the experience are yet to be seen, I think the trip accomplished one major feat: it humanized some of the teachers for the students, and possibly vice versa.

The event flew by but we still found time to enjoy the space we were in which included several nice pools, a stream with a small waterfall, and a bonfire.  While its no whale-watching, snorkeling, or coral beach, it was a nice break from the daily school grind.

At my "empathy" workshop: Camila, Maria Paula, & Isabella

Nicolás at the "empathy" workshop.

Los Muchachos: Sebastián, Juan Camilo, Rodrigo, Andrés,
Henry, Lucas, Pablo, Juan Camilo, Luis, & Nicolás

How low can you go? Picking up a cut-off paper bag with
no hands and only your feet touching the ground

New challenge: How many 9th graders can you fit in one pool?

Welcome to the Quindío countryside.

Taking a dip in the stream near the waterfall.

Las chicas y la chorrera
(Andrea, Catalina, Juanita, María Antonia, Isabella, & Laura)

Singing at the bonfire...probably Miley Cyrus or Taylor Swift
(Note: Some kids using their BlackBerries to follow the lyrics.)

What I Really Meant To Say

Consider for a moment, the following scene:  You're having a chat when suddenly the attentive eyes of your conversation partner narrow and a slight furrow crosses their brow.  You hesitate for a second and repeat what you just said, exactly as you just said it.  A slightly more quizzical look.  Now, if this conversation is happening in your newly learned second (third, fourth...) language, you are familiar with the feeling.  You just have to figure out why you are not being understood.  Was it pronunciation?  No, you talk to this person all the time; they "get" your gringo accent.  How about an incorrectly conjugated verb?  Doubtful; the expectation that you conjugate and distribute gender haphazardly is semi-expected and the context clues should have allowed them to comprehend what you were trying to say.

What about a wrong word all-together?  It sounded right though.  It even sounded Spanish.  Then you realize the problem.  Those damn false cognates!  To those who are not language people, these are those pesky words that sound or look like a word in your native tongue, but in fact means something completely different.

False cognates are the meat of any good miscommunication story.  I was reminded of how essential differentiating between these words is twice this past week.  First because an English teacher colleague was doing an activity with her students involving the avoidance of such language in their writing (false cognates obviously work both ways).  She had printed copies of a paper that outlined many such examples and graciously gave a copy to me.

Within the next day I had my own misstep.  While at the ninth grade semester awards ceremony, I was attempting to translate what an English-speaking teacher was giving an award for to our Spanish teacher.  The award was acknowledging a student's improvement over the course of the semester and so I erroneously used the word "improvisando," which, incidentally, is a word.  She asked for clarification and I repeated the same thing, wondering why she didn't understand.  She then let it go.  Meanwhile I played the conversation back again and again until I realized I had told her the student had received the award for "improvising" which, in hindsight, would be a stupid thing to give an award for, unless, perhaps, it was a drama class.  I then turned to her and said "mejorando" and the spark of understanding jumped back into her eyes.

Other common examples of mistakes that I've made in the past include using "equivocado" - which, ironically means "wrong" - when I was attempting to say equivocate.  Or using "nudo" when trying to say naked (actually "desnudo"), which means "joint" or "knot."  Telling a taxi driver to head to the sports arena by saying "arena de deportes" will get you to possibly a giant sand box as "arena" means "sand" and "anfiteatro" or "plaza" are two of the words referring to an arena as English-speakers know it.  "Carpeta" does not mean "carpet," it means "folder" ("alfombra" is carpet), the verb "contestar" means "to answer" while "to contest" something is "impugnar," and "red" in Spanish means "network" while the color of the same spelling is "rojo."

Unfortunately, I have made mistakes with all of them.  However, none have been more blush-inducing than mixing up "embarazada," which refers to being pregnant, for being embarrassed.  To make matters worse, in Colombia "pena" means embarrassment, not its potential homonym friend and fellow false cognate "pain," which is actually "dolor" (which does not mean "dollar").

Had enough?  When I'm at the end of my rope - "cuerda," "ropa" means "clothes" - I try to just laugh it off!  Spanish actually has it right, as they call this part of speech "amigos falsos," or "fake friends."  I literally couldn't have said it better myself!

Practice Makes Perfect!

After two and half years my Spanish is okay. Its not amazing and my students make fun of my gringo accent but I understand most of what is being said to me, regardless of if I can respond coherently.

Occasionally I meet people, who, like me, want to practice their "second language." Usually the extent of their English, however, is a short phrase from a song or a brand slogan. I've been bluntly told to "don't worry, be happy" and "just do it" on a couple different occasions while walking down a street somewhere.

This last weekend, at a roadside tienda on the outskirts of Armenia, some slightly inebriated 20-something guys were practicing the little English they knew, mostly "how are you?" repeated over and over. Then suddenly one of them remembered another phrase. He stood at the end of the table and, without pause or change in tone, proclaimed "How are you, fuck you."

Keep practicing, guys.

Bien Pueda

Colombia is a very welcoming place and the people here are some of the most generous, inviting, and accommodating I've ever met. They often say, "Bien pueda" which means basically, "Sure you can!" (It really doesn't translate exactly.) You hear it when getting into a taxi, entering a store, being offered a chair or place to sit on the bus, borrowing a phone, etc.

So, as I am now settled into my new apartment in my third year in this place I have come to know as home, I say to you, "bien pueda!" Mi casa es su casa. Let's take a tour...


Mi casa desde el punto de vista de la calle. Vivo por el tercero piso. My house from the street view. I live on the third floor.


La calle en frente de mi casa. The street in front of my house.


La entrada (por la izquierda), el cuarto de la huésped, y mi cuarto. The front entrance (to the left), the guest room, and my room.


La sala de estar. The living room.


La sala de estar otra vez. The living room again.


La cosina (desde la sala de estar). The kitchen (from the living room).


La cosina. The kitchen.


Las cordilleras al oeste de Cali. Esta foto sacé desde mi patio. The mountains to the west of Cali. This picture is taken from my back porch.


Mi cuarto. My bedroom.


El cuarto tuyo (el cuarto de la huésped). Your room (the guest room).


Otra vez. Again.

Reservations can be made by email or Facebook. Lodging includes airport pick-up, private bathroom, breakfast, lots of back porch sun, free guided tours of the city, and lots of fun! Bien pueda!

Say What?

One of the fun things about living in a place where English is not the primary language, other than learning the new one, is discovering words that do not exist in English. Most of these discoveries occur organically through incidental conversation. Other time it happens when a student is attempting to translate something and asks what the English word is, in Spanish. This second option usually results in a round of charades followed by a polling of the class. Eventually, I figure out what they are talking about, but still can not answer their question.

A few examples off the top of my head:

Pequeca In English, we just say "stinky feet smell" or "foot odor." In Spanish (or at least Colombian Spanish) there is a word to describe this particular odor. Since learning it, I have heard it used to describe anything that stinks, but it always stinks "like pequeca."

Estrenar This verb is a fun one since it is very limited in it's use. It means literally, "to wear for the first time." I guess in English we ask a similar question: Are those new shoes? Clearly though, we do not have a verb explicitly for such an occasion.

Vaso Sometimes when I run, I get a "side cramp" or a "side stitch." In reality, this is not very specific for this pain could be anywhere on my side. This word, I learned during our recent Anatomy Unit, refers specifically to the type of side cramp one gets in the lower side of the abdomen, nearish to the spleen. Incidentally, spleen in Spanish is "bazo" which, as one of my brighter students pointed out to me, is a "homophone not by coincidence."

You have to love the things you "learn" from your students...

Did You Miss Me, Mango?

Summer has come and gone. Well, calendar summer that is; it will still feel like summer here for, well, always. After spending a crazy and amazing seven weeks back in the US of A visiting friends, family, and eat English muffins (man, I miss those things), I am back in Cali, ready for another great year!

I was afraid I would have forgotten a lot of my Spanish over the summer and the long drive from the airport would be made even longer by me not being able to fill the awkward silences with anything other than "¿qué?" and "no entiendo" but all was good and we talked about fruits, vegetables, and chicken farms. Don't ask - it was near midnight and I had been traveling for around fourteen hours.

I moved apartments at the end of last year and by "moved apartments" I mean I had my stuff brought to the new place and then I left. So, upon arriving in the wee morning hours I was pleasantly surprised to see that my maid had made my bed and "unpacked" for me. (I was honestly set to just pass out on top of my mattress with a sweatshirt for a blanket and deal with the rest in the morning.) The next few days were spent playing "where did Omaira put _____?" It was moderately fun.

We've had a week's worth of teacher workshop days and gotten to meet and know the new staff. There's a couple from Wisconsin (Chippewa Falls) and Minnesota (St. Cloud), respectively, who just graduated from UW-LaCrosse, as well as a couple from Michigan and a girl from Chicago. It's nice to see the Midwest represent! The math teacher on my 9th grade team, who took me under his wing, left after four years last spring so now it's my turn to return the favor with the new math teacher. It's amazing the number of things I needed to know last year that are now just second nature to me; sometimes I feel like I was here longer than just one year! At an International School, I think it is possible grow more than the time would conceivably allow. Despite this, I still can't believe this begins year four in a, hopefully, long career.

And On Your Left...

Greetings and Happy New Year...or I should say Feliz Año Nuevo!

After a great vacation filled with travel, family, and relaxation, I had three days of school (in which many kids were absent - really, is three weeks off enough?) and then another great weekend with VISITORS!!! My first official house guests were my brother, Rolland, and his girlfriend, Jamie.

They arrived early Friday morning and, after a slight transportation mix-up at the airport where my hired driver apparently had trouble picking out two gringos getting off a plane from Bogotá, they arrived safe and sound at school. The cafeteria was serving a very Colombian soup that day called sancocho so we were off to a great start to a crash-course in Colombian everything.

They sat through my last class of the day and the kids were very excited to have them there. During work time, several students came to introduce themselves...I suppose practicing mitosis can wait until next time. Even after class when the school was letting out and I was preparing to give a tour of the campus, several students sheepishly came up and asked to be introduced. As much as these kids talk in class, they are very polite and I do love them.

We caught a taxi home, sparing Rolland and Jamie the thrill of the "teacher bus." We had a couple beverages and enjoyed the sunset from both my balcony and the tienda on the corner. It was so great to be able to sit back, relax, and enjoy a conversation with someone I've known for a long time (yes, almost my whole waking life) and meet someone new. They were a little travel-laged having flown all through the night, so I graciously let them take a nap before dinner. After a brief reprieve we went to a trendy part of Cali with a lot of restaurants and had a great dinner. Jamie felt as though she were back in Spain versus Latin America based on the atmosphere and I attempted to show her some of the differences in the Spanish spoken here. Rolland also ordered all by himself - I guess "North Juarez" (aka El Paso, TX) is rubbing off a little! We made sure to congratulate him.

Saturday morning we had a nice slow start, slept in, and then walked to breakfast at a place about a mile from my apartment called, ironically, just Crepes & Waffles. It was more of a dessert breakfast than breakfast breakfast, but none of us complained. Incidentally, the restaurant is owned by a woman who only hires single mothers to work there. An all-woman workforce is very uncommon in Colombia. But I digress... We then headed to school to meet another teacher, Matt (who I traveled to the Pacific region with over Thanksgiving), who took us up to the Rio Pance outside of town and we enjoyed a fantastic afternoon sitting in the cold clear mountain spring water amongst the rocks, waterfalls, and butterflies. After a few hours we headed back into town and grabbed an early dinner with Matt at a restaurant that serves more meat than...well, its a lot. (My analogies are failing me right now...or are completely inappropriate.)

We then headed home to prep for a night out at the salsatecha. This meant a nap. After picking up my friend Tina (I needed a dancing partner too!) we arrived at a famous and popular salsatecha called Tin Tin Deo. We got there early enough to be guaranteed a table, and, after ordering our bottle of Bacardi, we began the process of teaching Rolland how to dance. It was slow going but he was doing pretty well by the end of the night although Jamie began to think the Bacardi was helping so she continued to pour. Rolland even won a CD with salsa music by local artists. The best souvenirs are free, right?! Later that night I made the Colombian equivalent to late night pizza - frozen empanadas - and we crashed.

The final and last day began with a mid-morning hike up one of the mountains that borders Cali to the west that is topped with three giant crosses. Another teacher friend, Lisa, joined us and we made it up and down in roughly two hours. The view of the smog-covered city was as beautiful as a dead rose but when you come from the flat mid-west, anything from high up is impressive.

We then headed home, had some breakfast, showered, and headed to the mall to do what Americans do best: be consumers. Jamie got her nails done and was really impressed with the tiny flowers painted across her big toes. I believe the quote later that night was, "Let's all just stop and look at my feet!" After spotting some Colombian "plastic," including the ever-elusive butt implant, we headed to get some dinner at a restaurant owned by the family of one of my students. On the way there we ran into another student (who ran out of a restaurant just to say hello, incidentally) and Rolland and Jamie got to witness the always awkward "kiss-hello with your student" scenario.

Dinner was delicious and I decided I really do need to go there more often. I invited a teaching couple from Wisconsin along, Sarah and Justin, to talk about Santa Marta and the surrounding area of the Colombian Caribbean coast, as that is where Rolland and Jamie were headed for the second leg of their Colombian adventure. (The 'Sconies had recently visited the area over Thanksgiving ergo...)

The last thing I remember about my dear brother's visit was stumbling down the stairs of my building to let the driver know they were coming in my sleepy 5am stupor. I even tried talking to him in Spanish and attempted to figure out what happened on Friday at the airport when they arrived. If I got a response, I don't recall. Too early to be functioning in another language.

Overall it was a fantastic visit and I am currently exhausted from playing tour guide all weekend but so glad I did. So, who's next...?

Break Part II: The Mob & Me

After an enjoyable and relaxing week in Villa de Leyva, Christine, Luis Armando, and I left the little pueblo to head back to Cali. The plan was to catch a bus to Tunja and then another to Bogotá in time to get some lunch and head to airport in time for our 3:30 flight. Simple enough, yes? That's what we thought too.

The bus travel went well, with the minor exception of being randomly stopped and searched by the Colombian military, but I'd rather have to put my hands on the side of the bus and get patted down than have unsafe highways.
We got to the Bogotá airport at around 2pm and were immediately told that our plane had been overbooked...BUT we were being put on a later 5:30pm flight AND were getting some free bonos for future flights. In return we had to stand in line at the check in for a little over an hour. Finally having checked in, we made our way to the appropriate gate only to find that our original 3:30pm flight was at the neighboring gate and had not left yet at about 4:30pm. Eventually they took off and simultaneously our flight was delayed until 6:30pm. The first ting we noticed, other than the fact that no one seemed to really know anything was that somehow an entire planeload of people had been overbooked. I would love to know how that happened, especially when everyone we talked to was supposed to have been on the 3:30pm flight with us. Hmm...

Fast-forward another hour and we are told that our plane, which incidentally, has not shown up yet, is not going to be there until "maybe" 10pm. Or it could just be canceled altogether, they don't really know. At this point our fellow airline travelers began to get a little...peeved? Angry? Riotous? Let's just say about 60% of the flight basically stormed the gate desk all screaming at the same time. The military police stationed at the airport were summoned and were a solid presence from here on out, guns, batons, giant boots and all.

Luis Armando spent a lot of the next few hours with his fellow proactive Colombians questioning the airline workers about the location of our plane, why everyone at the airport was so ignorant, and when when when? Christine and I laid on the floor and watched the growing mob and equally growing number of armed military personnel. Various members of the mob began to emerge in our minds with names and predictable personality traits. There were several stereotypically power tied businessmen on the flight who were obviously used to being in control and getting what they want. They became our favorites to watch. There was also the man in the backwards Kanga hat and sports coat who looked like a Samuel L. Jackson wannabe, the "lady in white," and "chair guy" who seemed to feel that standing on various elevated places yelling random things to the crowd was helping things. "Chair guy" was mostly ignored although on several occasions he was successful in inciting the mob into chanting, "mentirosos" (liars) and "bonos." With each chant the mob caused at least one or two more military troops to show up. (There was also "good hair man" who didn't ever do anything except become our own minor celebrity solely based on his Patrick Dempsey-like locks.)

Eventually, around 11pm, an airline spokesman showed up to let us know that a plane was found to take us to Cali, unfortunately, the pilot had "timed out" and a new one needed to be found. How an airline shortchanges a plane and is out a pilot is beyond me but they haven't asked me to run the company yet so I'll stay out of it.

At about 12:15am we had a pane and a pilot and a crew. At this point the airline thought to themselves, "what else can we do to not get these people off the ground very quickly? I know! Let's board them by calling out their names one at a time! Brilliant!" So, one by one we were called by name and allowed to board the plane. After about 15 minutes Stephani Johnson got called to board. It was like getting the VIP treatment walking down the tunnel to the plane since no one else was in the tunnel with you. A few minutes later Christian Dussault joined me on the plane followed by our pal Luis Armando, who had no identity crisis. When several of the "Power Tie Crew" boarded they were greeted by an ovation of sorts. It doesn't take much to be a celebrity. We were also given more bonos, as if we were all dying to fly this airline again.

Wait! We can't take off that easily! As we were taxing down the runway an older man in the front half of the cabin suddenly passed out. This was most likely due to the fact that while sitting on the slowly filling plane there was very little circulating air. After returning to the terminal to drop this gentleman off, we finally were in the air at 1:45am - ten hours and fifteen minutes after we were supposed to take off.

I know others of you have probably spent many hours in an airport due to cancellations for various reasons; however, the introduction of near riots, the police, and complete ignorance raised this airport experience to a whole other level for me. Moral of the story: Don't fly AeroRepublica.

Keeping My Voice and My Dirty Nails

or... Hello? Yes, I Can Talk - I'm Just At Parent/Teacher Conferences. What Is The Teacher Wearing? Umm..."

This week for two days I came to school and sat at a little table in the library and talked and talked and talked with parents and students at conferences. Going into conferences I wasn’t all that nervous. I was thinking about how convenient it would be if all the students who were not doing too well had parents that spoke good English, but other than that I was feeling pretty confident.

The conferences ended up feeling like my Spanish mid-term oral exam. I was given a translator but I ended up sending him away. He was a little too pushy and I found out that 1) I have learned enough Spanish to get through a parent/teacher conference fairly smoothly and 2) if I get stuck the student is right there to translate for me. I learned a few new words too and tried to incorporate them into the other meetings as much as possible.

Nothing amazingly entertaining happened over the course of the two days other than me drinking too much water in a preemptive effort to not lose my voice. I was successful and can speak with a full voice today; however, the library urinal and I are now on a first-name basis.

A lot of the things about the interactions at the conferences were very similar with my previous experiences. Some parents think 99% is fantastic and others think it is not good enough. Some parents think 60% is fantastic while others are starting to tan some hide. Some parents yell at their child right there in front of you at the table and others just give a death glare that would freeze lava. It was interesting to see that the interactions and reactions between the parents and the students were the same as what I’ve seen in North America.

There were four main differences though. First, if you didn’t know any better, you would have thought you were at the social event of the year. Most all the men were in suits and the women were so done up with jewelry and flashy clothes they needed to wear their sunglasses inside. Also, I was very aware of my fingernails and how I hadn’t had time to get a manicure yesterday…or ever in my entire life. The appearance thing is HUGE here. Another import teacher was talking with a mother who, while being told about her son’s progress in class, was leaning back to see under the table to check out the entire ensemble the teacher was wearing – skirt, shoes, and probably toe nails too!
Secondly, it is strange to give a kiss-hello to a student you are about to tell is failing. It’s kind of like giving someone a hug and then kneeing them in the groin.
The third difference was the total number of parents I talked to. Usually, in the States, by the time student reaches high school, the parents stop attending conferences religiously. Not here. Believe it or not, I had a 96% attendance rate. Had I brought a book to read, I would not have had much time to crack it open.
Finally, and this is very cultural, Colombians cannot not answer their cell phones. It may be physically impossible for them to ignore a call. I had at least seven parents answer their phones mid-conference and, when I stopped to let them take the call, they would motion for me to continue on. (!!!)
Welcome to Colombia.

Lights, Camera, Action!

Before I arrived here, my guidebook advised that Cali was not a cultural hotbed and was lacking in movies and such. This is both true and skewed. There are plenty of movies to see in Cali. The question is, do I want to see them? (Get your mind out of there...not those movies. I mean, I have internet...let's not get creepy. KIDDING!) Let's go to the movies...

When you go to the movie theater in Colombia, you stand in line, pay someone sitting behind a plexi-glass panel with a hole in it, get snacks, sit in the dark, etc just like in North America. A few subtle differences:

1) There are assigned seats and you get to choose them at the plexi-glass window. This takes a ridiculous amount of time so it is advisable to arrive early...like at the airport. (This practice is apparently pretty common in Europe and actually not all that bad of an idea.) You can also pay more money to sit in the "preferred" seating, which is in the very back. All theaters I've been in have been stadium seating so this isn't actually too bad.

2) You get frisked on your way into the theater. Thoroughly.

3) You are ushered to your assigned seat. If an attendant is not immediately there when you enter the theater, one will find you and check that you are indeed in your assigned seat. Also, if no one else is in the theater and you want to move to another seat you will be shot. Okay, not really, but it is not allowed and a flashlight will end up shining in your face.

4) Movies that say "Proximente" (or "Coming Soon") are. Eventually. I saw Lucky Number Slevin (7 Número Equivocado) this week. I believe this movie came out in the States a year ago and is definitely already on DVD. It should be noted, though, that other more current films, such as The Bourne Ultimatum (Bourne: El Ultimatum), The Simpsons Movie (Los Simpsons), and Die Hard 4: Live Free or Die Hard (Duro de Matar 4.0) have been here since I arrived in August. Also, I have been unable to find anything resembling a schedule of when movies will or will not be there.

5) Most everything is subtitled. Fortunately for me, they are subtitled in English. Which means if something funny is said, I laugh first, followed by the "readers." Or not at all if the humor doesn't translate. In that case I'm always thankful we watch movies in the dark. Also, cartoons are never subtitled and always dubbed in Spanish. I guess it's easier. (?)

I love that even simple activities like this can become serious misadventures. Coming next week...brushing my teeth.

Roadside Donkey

AKA: Visiting Popayán

This past weekend a small contingent of us import teachers embarked on our first trip outside of Cali to a smaller city about three hours south called Popayan. This city is notable for embracing and attempting to preserve its colonial roots and architecture.

Our journey began when our hired driver, Patricia, showed up to pick all eight of us up at 9am Saturday morning. It cost us $300,000 (about $35 USD each) for her to drive us there and back. As an added "bonus,"Patricia brought along her five year old daughter, Isabella. I believe the trip was so inexpensive up front because there was an "Isa-Tax" involved. This little girl was adorable, shy, and cute...for the first five minutes. Then began the hitting, punching, screaming, biting, and even taking off her belt and whipping people part. All were subjected to this hostility fairly evenly, except for Josh, whom she took a fancy to right from the start and would not let anyone else sit next to her but him. She called Marco "ugly" (feo) and Josh "fat" (gordo...although it should be pointed out that "gordo" or "Gordito/a" is a form of flattery...yes it means "little fatty" but it is supposedly endearing). She also made up a song about Matt that went something like: "Mateo manderino! Mateo manderino!" Thank goodness there is someone here who has redder hair than I; songs comparing me to an orange, I can do without!

(I am happy to report that I was able to temporarily calm this devil-child by entrancing her, only briefly, by teaching her the only Spanish song I know, "Mi Cuerpo" as taught to me by music teacher extraordinaire, Miss Sarah Norvold. Thanks, dear!)

We passed the time, in between evading Isa's assaults, by looking for certain pre-determined sights along the way, including fire, a black and white dog, an iguana, roadkill, a tricycle, a mechanic actually working, and a roadside donkey, and acquiring "points." It helped to pass the time. It was amazing the number of fires and non-black and white dogs there were. (Fires mostly because we were in the sugar cane region of Colombia and they burn the cane before harvesting it.) Surprisingly enough, donkeys along highways are not a common sight.

After three loooooong hours we finally de-vanned in front of our hotel, a nice open-air Spanish-style villa. After checking in, the first order of business was to find food. While looking for a restaurant, we noticed right away that the streets are very narrow and the buildings come right up to the sidewalks. They are also all white, save for a few rogue pink or tan ones...rebels. Apparently the white is reminiscent of the colonial days and is encouraged in much of the city. The whole town had a very European-village feel to it with most streets looking like wide white alleyways.

We found a nice little cafe and had a cheap lunch of soup, jugo de piña (pineapple juice), and rice and chicken...all for about $1.50 USD each. Crazy. Some of the girls went back to the hotel to nap and then rest of us went exploring. The amount of churches in Popayán was impressive. It seemed every block had one and prestigious old cathedrals were also very abundant. All you needed to do was look at the skyline for the next steeple and head in that direction. Unfortunately, most of them were not open the first time we walked by. Eventually, we made our way to the top of a hill that has been made a park and lookout point. There were a lot of Colombian tourists and locals relaxing and hanging out all over the park so, as they say, when in Rome... The view was amazing and the air was so much cleaner than Cali we sat in the grass and played cards for a couple hours before heading back to the hotel to rouse the girls.

On the way back it appeared the streets were busier than before and we soon discovered that Saturday evening mass is quite popular in Popayán. Some of the services had already begun but when we found one that hadn't, we snuck inside briefly to admire the art and architecture inside. It is incredible to gaze up and admire that people actually built these massive spaces before the advent of modern machinery. It's incredible!

A teacher back at school had recommended favorite restaurant so, after picking up the girls, we headed to the Italian district of town...yes, there is a "little Italy" of sorts in Popayán. I don't know why but a small section is festooned with Italian flags and home to dozens of pizzerias. The restaurant we ended up at serves a mean six course meal...although spread out over three and a half hours, ensuring you get your fill of wine. ;) The meal was delicious and ended up costing more than the van-fare to get there but definitely worth it!

After dinner we found a little salsatecha, had a few drinks, danced a few dances, and then realized we were all old-balls and needed our beds. We agreed to pass the blame on to Isa for exhausting us too early.

The next morning we slept in, had a leisurely breakfast of eggs, mango juice, arepas (cornbread disks), and cafe con leche, and headed out for some more church-seeking and general walking in circles for a few more hours. At one point we ended up at a park in the city center where I indulged in some of the grossest ice cream I've ever have. They pretty much put the leftover scrapings of a bunch of tubs of ice cream together into one tub and created a sort of ice cream goulash. This is not an exaggeration. Sadly, I was hungry and ate the entire thing...

Later, we checked out of the hotel, met Patricia (and Isabella...), and headed home. We attempted to play our "Eye Spy" game again, but ended up falling asleep instead. Ten bucks says we passed a donkey on the roadside...

Say "Queso!": Buying a Camera

A short story...

So, my camera that I came down here with has been acting funky lately...perhaps it didn't like being dropped, I don't know. Regardless, I'm not going to live in this beautiful country without being able to document it, so off to purchase a new photographic device I went.

It was recommended I go to an electronic store in the nearby mall, Photo Japon. Me and my limited Spanish have no problem going grocery shopping and the art fairs, but the Colombians make a big deal about purchasing electronics, even lamps. (Actually, when you buy a light bulb they take it at the register and go test it to make sure it works.) Therefore, I was little nervous. So, nervous actually, that purchasing a camera took two attempts.

The first one went like this (all in Spanish):
Store Clerk: How are you?
Me: Good. Thank you.
Store Clerk: blah blah blah...(probably can I help you find something?)
Me: [with charades] Just looking. Thank you.
Store Clerk: blah blah blah camera?
Me: Yes. This is a camera.
Store Clerk: (looks at me and smiles)
Me: Thank you. [And at this point I run out of the store.]

Three days later, I decided to try again. This time I practiced a few key phrases to better prepare myself.

I walked in, was greeted by a clerk and proceeded through a similar conversation, although this time there was no retreating. I choose a camera I wanted and told the clerk "I would like to buy this camera." Then I somehow turned into Julie Roberts in "Pretty Woman" because the clerk repeated the price to me three times. The first was as a statement, the second time as a question, and there third with much skepticism. There could have been an eye roll.

I'm feeling pretty good at this point as I reach the register and give the cashier my bank card. She asks me something and I just say "yes" because sometimes it is easier that way. (She was cute so if she propositioned me and I didn't know it, I'd be okay with it.) Then I had to sign the receipt, as is common practice in North America. I handed it back and she told me I needed to fill in my phone number. I then realized that I did not know my phone number. (I do now though!) I also realized I didn't know the verb "to forget" so I attempted to act it out. She was cute, but I would not want her on my team for charades, I'll tell you that much.

She disappeared inot the back room and brought out the manager. He spoke about as much English as I speak Spanish. The conversation went like this:

Manager: Hi. What is you telephone number?
Me: I know. I forgot it. [again with the acting]
Manager: What is hotel telephone number?
Me: No no no...I live here. I live in Cali.
Manager: What is the name of hotel?
Me: No. I live here. Yo vivo en Cali. Soy profesoro en Cali. Yo vivo aqui.
Manager: Okay. [walks away to back room]

A minute later I am wondering if they are just going to hide from me until I give up and leave when the cashier girl cames out with an ink pad and the receipt. I am then fingerprinted and given my camera. I'm glad they have my index finger print on file. That way if the money doesn't go through they can hunt me down by showing everyone my fingerprint. No address or picture - just a single fingerprint.

Moral: Colombians like to make things more complicated than they probably need to be so just learn your phone number.

The End.